AN: Okay, old story line that has been done time and time again, but hopefully with an interesting new spin. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and all affiliated characters. All rights reserved to J. . I do not make a profit from this fan fiction (though does sadistic pleasure count as profit?)

Chapter Warning: Language, some sexual themes

Dark Temptations

Chapter One

It was the same dream. Harry was walking down the barely lit corridor; his breath floating in the air like white fog, dissipating only for another breath to replace the previous. It was cold – as cold as winter snow when you lay too long – and Harry felt numb. His flesh prickled as he continued his slow, cautious pace.

He never knew what awaited him at the end of the corridor, only that it did – he did. The dark figure would appear like a ghost as it was not there when he gazed upon that spot only moments before. The figure would never move – never acknowledge his presence until just before he reached it.

Glowing red eyes captured his own, stalling his progression and eliciting his fear. He could neither run nor fight as those eyes regarded him with something akin to interest; for what, he was not sure. After a moment, the figure would draw closer, tasting the flesh of his neck with an inquisitive tongue before the hot flash of pain would send him colliding out of his dream.

Harry jerked awake, his body bolting upright. A thin sheen of sweat covered his form, soaking the top of his shirt with perspiration. It was the fourth time this month he had that nightmare. Each time, he could feel more and dare he say it, fear more of that figure that loomed in the darkness. Tearing away his covers, he grabbed his spectacles from the bedside table and gazed about the room filled with snoring, slumbering classmates.

Ron was the worst of them as he literally spread out like an eagle in his sleep and gave way to the most horrendous sounds. He admired the deep sleep his best mate was having as he rose to gaze out the small window of their room. The moonlight painted over the soft swaying grasses that landscaped around their castle.

It was their last year at Hogwarts, and after the defeat of the Dark Lord. Many lives had been lost and changed forever. After a substantial amount of effort, he had regained what little motivation he could find in order to continue. He was surprised to be alive – as many were. He was not the only survivor to surprise the masses; Severus Snape had survived the bite from Nagini in what Madam Pomfrey had referred to as a miracle recovery. They were still quite baffled as to how the Potion's Master had managed to recover from said bite with no indication there had ever been one.

During the summer, Severus Snape had been acquitted of all charges against him and was free to return as Potion's professor at Hogwarts. Not many of the students felt that such an event was to celebrated (for good reason), but Harry had grown a sort of understanding with the man he had once believed incapable of any emotion other than fury and dislike. It was clear to Harry just what the older wizard had suffered, and he found his dislike lessening with each day. Though, he still felt that Snape was a right git most of the time.

One more year. One year stood between his life and what lacked there of it. He was no longer capable of imagining what might serve as a good profession; to be honest, he was sick of death and sick of chasing – or being chased, however a person might want to view it.

Before the year began, he had revealed to his girlfriend, Ginny Weasley, that he did not believe that he was attracted to witches (in a sexual sense of the word). She had been conflicted in her support versus her sadness at what it meant for their future; in the end, however, she became a confidant of sorts and urged him to 'let his freak flag fly' as she often told him with a gesture akin to a fist pump. Harry grieved for her; he grieved for the loss of her brother and the loss of their relationship that if he had not discovered this...other part of him, may have led to marriage and kids.

Harry breathed onto the window causing it to steam over before he pressed a finger to it and drew out a symbol he often saw in his dreams. Sighing, he trekked to his bed and stared up at the plain ceiling. Counting sheep. No, that never worked. Potion's ingredients? No, he barely remembered them as it was. He would spend most of his time joggling his brain instead of falling to sleep.

Unbidden images of a certain Potion's professor flashed through his head. The man's fathomless obsidian eyes, glistening near fire-light. His hands, long-fingered elegant instruments that wielded wand and ladle with mastered grace and ability. The tall, powerful body hidden beneath flowing black teaching robes that strode about a classroom as though his feet never truly touched the surface, merely glided across stone floor.

No! Thinking of Snape never did much for sleep. If anything, it kept him wider awake. Shaking away the flash of images of the dungeon bat, Harry focused his efforts on counting the cracks in stone. Finally, he succumbed to sleep after three-hundred and twenty-two cracks.


"You look exhausted Harry," Hermione remarked as they sat for breakfast.

Harry lifted his brow slighty. "And here I thought I got plenty of beauty sleep."

"Beauty sleep won't help you mate," Ron said with a laugh. "Doubt anything will help you along at this stage."

Harry gave Ron a small punch to the shoulder. "Just because you have a girlfriend doesn't mean you can get the head the size of a troll, Ron." Ron grinned mischievously before returning to his food. Hermione merely shook her head while giving Harry a small look.

"I am sure you will find a nice," she leaned forward and brought her voice to a whisper, "wizard to date."

Harry scoffed. "'Mione, I'm fine. I don't need anyone. I am happy just being alone."

"You are famous, Harry. You can get any bloke you want," Ron said loudly which earned him an elbow right to the ribcage by one Hermione Granger. He coughed, sputtering food over his and Harry's plates.

"Oh gross," Harry said as he leaned backward to save his clothes from the spray. His eyes wandered and caught sight of the head table. The professors sat side by side, chatting with gestures of an elaborate sort; however, one professor remained unmoving, focused solely on his person. Snape's eyes captured his own as he gazed at the man from the far end of the room. A hard bump to his side broke the stare, and he jerked towards Ron who was getting a punch to his arm by Seamus. It would seem his plate was not the only one unfortunate enough to receive the food spray.

When Harry turned back towards the table, Snape was engaged in conversation. Was he imagining things? Sighing, he turned back towards his meal and shook away the small shiver the ran up the length of his spine.


Harry had a new hate: N.E.W.T.S. He wished that after he had defeated the Dark Lord he would have been better prepared, but he was not. He groaned as he looked over the study work for his exam. Taking a back corridor, he walked at a brisk pace, his eyes barely straying from the parchment he read.

"Potter," a smooth voice like aged whiskey forced his eyes from his page. Snape stood with his arms characteristically crossed against his torso regarded him with a sneer. "Reading while walking? Do you believe yourself the only one allowed to walk these halls? Has your ever-growing fan base inflated your head so incredibly that you cannot share a corridor with another person?"

"Sorry sir," he said as he pocketed the parchment and side-stepped to let his professor pass. Getting on Snape's bad list was far from on his to-do list; he had enough worries with N.E.W.T.S just around the corner. Snape did not move from his spot, however, merely gazed at Harry with another one of his unreadable gazes.

The air felt electric and in mere moments magic wafted around them, whipping about like flames. Harry's eyes could not stray from the dark, onyx orbs of his professor. It was as if he was petrified and unable to move. Then, as if string were being wound and pulled, he walked forward; he walked as if he had lead feet – each step a great effort to lift.

"Stop," was all the older wizard commanded before Harry found his body released from the invisible force that held it captive. "I suggest you remove yourself from my sight, Potter, before you regret having stayed."

Harry needed no further prompting and took off at leg-breaking speeds. Whatever had just occurred had Harry's heart colliding painfully against his chest.

Merlin. It felt as though his body would give out at any moment. Harry brushed aside his rebellious fringe as he fought to keep his body upright. After running for nearly ten minutes down several corridors to escape – well whatever that was that happened between them – Harry had found himself in Gryffindor tower.

He berated his flight response. He was made of stronger stuff surely. One impenetrable gaze from the ex-Death Eater never sent him running at speeds his short legs were incapable of keeping pace with. However, that air that had passed between them earlier was unlike anything he had ever experienced. The memory brought about a chill that shot down his body like hot electricity.

Harry pressed a hand to his chest. The rapid beating of his heart was still present despite the several minutes of deep breathing. What was going on? Why was he reacting in such a way to Snape? Harry shook his head with frustration. The nightmares – perhaps – were the reason?


"You almost what...with Sna-" Ron practically yelled from their little corner of the common room. Harry twisted his best mate's arm, forcing Ron's voice to break into a yelp of pain. Satisfied that Ron was efficiently silenced, Harry continued.

"Not so bloody loud you twat."

Ron was rubbing his injury, "Ow, sorry mate."

"So what exactly happened Harry?" Hermione asked her eyes sparkling with interest.

"It was rather strange really," Harry began as he thought back onto the incident from earlier, "I was just talking to him and then it was like I couldn't move at all." Hermione's face drew down in pondering. "As if something or someone was pulling me, I started to move towards unable to fight the urge until he stopped me."

"Hormones?" Ron offered with a smirk.

"Ronald," Hermione warned. "What exactly did it feel like Harry?"

"Like I had no control of my body," Harry explained. "It was magnetic, 'Mione."

"Hm," she hummed. Ron had long lost interest as he moved one of his knights which proceeded to destroy Harry's pawn. "I'll do a bit of research," she said finally and with a curt nod, left the two of them to their game.


Imbecilic adolescents everywhere. Surely he could hex a few in a random group and oblivate their minds to sooth the frustration building.

Minerva would castrate you where you lie.

Not to mention deny him the hunt. It had been nearly a month gone since he was allowed the pleasure of hunting in the Forbidden Forest. Since then, it was his displeasure to be subjected to a rather unsatisfying generative blood potion of his own devising – for the very reason that most vampires had a donor or mate.

He detested the donor system now put into effect by the Ministry. The lot of them were tainted blood – writhing and moaning distasteful creatures. Nothing compared to the blood of the innocent or untainted wizard. It was an aged whiskey – a smooth taste that filled him beyond capacity.

Severus would never taste such delectable liquid life once more if he were left to generative blood potions and the creatures unfortunate enough to dwell in the Forbidden Forest when he hunted.

Unless you find your mate that is.

Mate. Severus scoffed at the word. He had seen those of his clan fall into the arms of their fated ones, but Severus did not believe such tripe.

You smell him. The delicious one.

Severus groaned with the memory. Potter had to be the bloody only untainted virgin wizard within the entire castle save the twelve year old children – but that was highly immoral and incredibly distasteful. He would never take from such a young child.

But Potter...

Yes, Potter was quite...delectable – loathe as he was to admit it. The boy had sprouted like a weed, his features morphing from the once gangly pubescent teenager to dare he say it, the rather subtly toned beauty he was today. Emerald-green eyes that glimmered like treasured jewels beneath clear water; skin that honeyed with long hours of sunlight; dark unmanageable locks that would never tame but gave him a rather debauched appearance always; and not to mention, the rather cherry plump lips that led to immoral thoughts Severus refused to allow himself to entertain.

Snog the boy senseless and make him yours for no other to claim.

Hardly. He would rather send himself upon a spike before claiming anything from the-boy-who-lived-again. Perhaps the hunger and this new interest in the dark-haired, green-eyed Gryffindor would fade with time.



"Malfoy," Harry replied with a scowl.

Malfoy strode purposefully towards Harry, his six-foot, one-inch height easily towering Harry's five-foot, six-inches. The glimmer of lights caused a near glow to the platinum blond hair that had grown nearly shoulder length in their time away from Hogwarts. Though he still disliked the tall Slytherin, he would no longer associate the tall teen with hatred. He emphasized with Malfoy's situation. Lucius Malfoy had been sentenced to life in Azkaban due to his association with Voldemort. Draco was able to receive reprieve and return to his year at Hogwarts; however, he still lost his father to his crimes.

"Rumor has it you're a poof, Potter."

Oh for the love of Merlin. "Malfoy, gossiping? Should I be surprised?"

"Answer the question Potter."

Harry sighed before saying, "It is a question not worth answering, Malfoy. Slither back to your little friends and tell them to piss off."

"Oh Potty," Malfoy smirked as he drew closer, "you're all full of foul language this year."

"No," Harry corrected, "just less patience for prats is all."

Malfoy cooed before nearly painting himself against Harry. The close proximity took Harry by surprise to say the least; he prided himself on his observance and calculation, but he truly had not seen that one coming.

"Should said rumor be true," Malfoy whispered intimately into the shell of his ear causing an indirect shiver to course through him, "I would be more than willing to offer my particular talents. I could say...shag your tight arse into the stone floor..." a tongue teased the sensitive skin of his ear before Malfoy pulled away. "So submissive..."

"Piss off," Harry hissed near violence as he withdrew his wand. This only caused the tall Slytherin to smile in all smugness before striding away unaffected by the intimidation Harry sought to impart on him. Next time, hexing is in order.

Groaning and then pocketing his wand, Harry pushed himself off the wall and took off down the corridor. Dealing with NEWTS and an overly forward Malfoy was a little too much – add a steaming side of Slytherin Head of House and it was damn near combustion.


"Minerva," Severus greeted as he sat down opposite of the headmistress.

"You look terrible," she said as she trained her eyes on his overall disorderly appearance. Sugarcoating was clearly not one of her strengths. However, to say he was not thoroughly in need of a good drink – of the warm blooded sort – would to be deny the truth.

You could always ask Potter to offer his neck over.

Like some virgin sacrafice? Severus scoffed to himself. Unlikely, if not already highly immoral. He would never touch a child.

Potter is no child. He is a young man. A delicious young-

Young being the operative word. No, Potter was now and always off of the menu.

You never know until you try.

"Yes, well today more so than others," he replied dryly, ignoring the pestering voice in his head. "Do I have permission to steal away to the forest this evening?"

"Yes," she said after a long, deep breath. "Though I would be much more content if you would enlist the help of the donor system. It could-"

"I will not," he cut in. "We have had this conversation many times, Minerva. I refuse to enlist the help of those...insufferable donors. Bloody pleasure-seeking manglers all of them."

"Surely not all Severus," she argued simply. "I am sure we can find you..."

"No, Minerva."

"Well then," she small exasperated sigh. "What of your mate? Have you scented him?"

"Amongst all the pubescent hormonal children that crowd these halls? It would be inconceivable that I would be fated to one so young and so...insufferable. No Minerva, I fear that I shall never mate."

"Oh you are overly cynical and pessimistic," she said with a small smile. "However, it would be a fearsome day to behold should you become otherwise. Well then, you are permitted to hunt but only for the evening and you should know clearly of my boundaries and rules, Severus."

"Of course."

"Then happy hunting."

Happy? Happy is when I sink my fangs into a decadent morsel.

Like the delicious one. Potter.

No. It is immoral and will never, could never occur.


The darkness nearly engulfed him as he took each step as though the floor would shatter beneath him. It was the same corridor as before but somehow, everything felt different. The air felt heavier leaving him gasping at it. The figure that loomed in the darkness waited, though he could not see him, he knew he was there. Trembling, he took another step towards it, refusing the small notion of fleeing.

Red eyes beckoned him forwards. As soon as he reached the figure, it was upon him, lips tasting the flesh of his neck, suckling and nipping. Harry gasped in surprise then in pleasure as a hot tongue tasted the line of his neck.

"Potter," the deep rich as chocolate voice called to him. "Become mine."

Jerking upright, Harry nearly fell from his bed. He could still hear that deep, sensual voice in his ears. The blood flow pounded in his head, in his heart, and engorged flesh within his trousers. He groaned as he realized he was aroused from a dream – a dream containing a red-eyed creature. Bloody insane. He rubbed his eyes gingerly. The soft sounds of snoring interrupted any pondering he might be able to do. Instead, he curled into the warmth of his blankets and attempted to return to sleep.


Scent was his most keen if not forefront sense – his eyes being his second. Scenting an animal unlucky enough to become his prey for the evening was no challenge, but Severus enjoyed scenting creatures that would provide a challenge; not that any of them could, but he enjoyed a longer chase when he could as these hunts were often fleeting. His speed was unmatched in the forest as he dodged trees and bushes on pursuit of his next target. The blood called to him; it lured him towards it with the sweet promise of fulfillment.

He nearly found the prey before he caught wind of it. The boy.

He is seeking you...

Harry was near the forest edge, his invisibility cloak tightly cocooned around him as he took tentative steps within the darkness. His heart stammered painfully in his chest and every bit of his flesh felt numb with the harsh bite of cold that October evening presented. Yet here he stood, walking towards – well – someone he was not entirely sure of. He had found himself awake and outside of Hogwarts before he realized – awaken from the dream that had haunted him the entirety of the month.

He could not fathom what caused this sudden locomotion; he barely understood it as each step sent him further into the darkness of the forest and out of the protection of Hogwarts. He was barely clad in thin pajamas so every bit of wind froze, causing painful sparks against his tortured flesh. However, he could – not for the life of him – convince his body to turn back.

He only found himself stopping when a dark, tall figure emerged from the darkness. The glow of red depths triggered the memory of his nightmares. It was the man he had feared in his dreams but ultimately sought. He found it harder to breath as the figure drew closer, hesitantly at first, but then with more confidence.

"Potter," the deep hiss caused his body to jerk inadvertently. "Remove the cloak."

"How..." Harry was left nearly speechless. No one could see him in the invisibility cloak, so how was it this man who he quickly identified as Severus Snape, Potion's Master, was able to determine it was him? Shrugging off the cloak as instructed, he was suddenly feeling rather exposed as the tall figure of his potion's professor loomed over him.

"Return to your dormitory," the even voice demanded. Before he could argue, his body moved on its own as if drawn backwards by a force unseen. His eyes widened as he walked with steady pace back to his dorm, once more shielding himself within the cloak.

"This poses a problem," Severus muttered softly to himself, his meal long forgotten.

No, it is a perfect opportunity. You can claim the boy. He seeks you...he is your mate.

Ridiculous! The boy-

Hardly a boy with a body like that...

Regardless, he could not fathom overstepping a relationship of any sort especially one as-

Delicious? Satisfying? Utterly phenomenal?

Untouchable as the boy-who-lived!

Excuses. He is yours for the claiming. An untouched, attractive, loyal, fuckable...

Young man with his entire life spread out to him to do as he wishes and to not be subjected to another fate where he is bound and forced into without a say.

You have not given the delicious one a choice. You are making it by refusing it.

As he should. Severus would not ruin what little interaction they still harbor between them for a selfish whim.

Whim? He is your mate for the claiming. He feels the connection too.

Severus banished his inner voice as he made his way back to the castle. His hunger forgotten, he returned to his rooms to nurse a glass of fire whiskey in hopes of banishing all images of a certain emerald-eyed minx who now tormented his thoughts.


Reviews appreciated. I came by the 'inner voice' with another fan fiction I cannot remember the name of for the life of me, but it inspired my Snape's inner voice lol.